


Fight Me?

by LaKoda0518



Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: #doctorJohnWatson, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-25 03:35:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16189244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaKoda0518/pseuds/LaKoda0518
Summary: I got this as a prompt on a Facebook group posted by one of my fellow members and fell in love! Sherlock overdoses and finds himself in the care of one Dr. John Watson. He isn’t the best patient and makes things quite difficult for the good doctor, but, lucky for Sherlock, John’s always up for a challenge!





	Fight Me?

A/N: Okay, so while I’m writing Perfect Imperfections, this is a one-shot just for the sake of it! Brief description of Sherlock’s overdose, but nothing too terribly heavy. I want to thank my friends at I Am Johnlocked Facebook group for this lovely prompt! xxx

 

Beep… Beep… Beep… Beep… Beep…

As Sherlock opened his eyes, he wasn’t sure where he was. The room was dimly lit, but he was almost certain that he was lying down; an incessant beeping sound buzzed in his ears. His vision was fuzzy, but he could just make out Lestrade standing over him. His heart was pounding in his head and he felt like he was going to be sick. In an attempt to sit up, he realized he was attached to several different monitors and an iv bag, but was too weak to expel anymore energy into the endeavor as he gave up and dropped back onto the bed.

He heard Lestrade saying his name as he tapped his face with his hands, but Sherlock couldn’t bring himself to respond. Why weren’t the words in his head registering with his mouth? And why did Lestrade sound like he was several miles away? His voice was muffled and it echoed in Sherlock’s mind as he tried and failed to make out what he was saying. He knew the inspector was calling out to someone else, but he couldn’t force his mind to figure it out. What was wrong with him?

He was lying in a hospital bed with Lestrade watching over him and calling someone else into the room. Why was he in the hosp- oh…. His memories hit him like a lead weight. The tourniquet wrapped tightly around his bicep, the ingredients for his latest narcotic cocktail spread out on the floor of his flat, the pressure of the needle sinking into his forearm, the burn of the drugs as they invaded his system……. He must have overdosed and Mrs. Hudson must have found him and called Lestrade. Ah, yes, things were starting to make sense, now…. 

Sherlock tried once again to sit up, but felt a pair of strong hands pushing him back down. Gavin -no, Greg? No, not Greg. Someone else. Someone new… he blinked up at the man above him and all he could take in was a pair of steely, grey-blue eyes. A flash of greying, blonde hair. And a voice was talking to him a few miles away.

“Easy, just relax, Mr. Holmes. I’m a doctor; my name is Dr. John Watson and I’m going to sort you out. But, first, you need to relax for me,” the man was saying, standing over him and keeping his hands on his shoulder as Sherlock tried futilely to fight him off.

“No, leave me alone,” he slurred, trying without much avail to push the doctor off of him. “You’ll have to fight me!” he muttered intensely, swinging a heavy arm at Dr. Watson. 

Sherlock was sure the man had chuckled at him as he caught his arm and rested it over his chest. “No, no, it’s quite alright. I couldn’t fight you, I’m not very skilled in that area and I’m not sure I could take you. I can’t risk my reputation,” he said enthusiastically, but Sherlock was sure he was mocking him, albeit jokingly. He wished he was in his right mind, but he had no hope of getting to that state any time soon. He would have to wait this out just like before…

 

(Dr. Watson’s POV)

 

Dr. Watson suppressed a smile as his patient gave in and his eyes fluttered closed. He checked the monitors and listened to his chest with his stethoscope before turning back to Inspector Lestrade. “It’s going to take some time, but I believe he’s going to be ok, eventually. We are running blood tests to try to trace exactly what combination of drugs Mr. Holmes has taken, but hopefully we will know within the hour. You’re more than welcome to wait it out or, if you have work to do, I can call you with the results. And, before you worry, I can promise you your friend will be in good hands and we will take excellent care of him,” he stated as he looked over his patient’s chart. 

Lestrade pinched the bridge of his nose with a tired sigh and checked his watch. “That sounds fine. Just, do let me know what you find out. His landlady is a bit distraught and if I can give her any information about his condition that may ease her mind, it would help a lot. I have a lot of work to get caught up on, but I’ll have my mobile if you need me,” he replied as he held up his mobile phone before slipping it into his jacket pocket. He nodded a goodbye to Dr. Watson before he left the room.

As he finished signing off on the checklist on Mr. Holmes’ chart, Dr. Watson returned it to the end of the bed, watching his patient for a moment. Sherlock Holmes. An unusual name, but Watson found himself intrigued by it. Sherlock was a detective and apparently a damn good one, which puzzled Watson and made him wonder why someone so clever would ever resort to drug use. He was a tall and slender man who had some of the most striking features Watson had ever seen – dark, curly hair that was thick across his forehead, the bluest eyes he had ever seen (far more entrancing than what he had ever seen on any woman), a strong, chiseled chin and the sharpness of his cheekbones was mesmerizing. God, what was his problem! Ogling the poor man! ‘Snap out of it, John, and stop being so ridiculous…’ he mentally chastised himself.

In the pocket of his lab coat, his mobile began to vibrate. Ah, his 6am alarm… time to make his rounds and check on his next hall of patients. He reached out a hand and patted Sherlock’s calf before he left the room even though he wasn’t sure why he had done it exactly. It just felt right and it felt like his silent way of reassuring his patient he would return to check on him soon. 

 

Dr. Watson returned to Sherlock’s room after two and a half hours with his third cup of coffee in hand. He had gotten the blood work back and been relieved to find that the detective would require nothing additional in his treatment and should be able to return home once the drugs were out of his system and he was back to normal. He checked his iv and pain medicine as well as each of his monitors before he decided to wake him to check his vitals. 

As tempting as it was to rake his hands through the mess of soft curls on his patient’s head, he decided it would be extremely unprofessional and resorted to shaking Sherlock’s shoulder in order to coax him from his sleep. The detective sighed at first and then rolled over onto his side before trying to sit up. He did well to begin with, but he hadn’t quite regained his center of gravity, yet, and fell back down into his pillows. Sherlock groaned, annoyed, and pried his eyes open to look at Dr. Watson. 

 

(Sherlock’s POV)

 

Sherlock stared up into Dr. Watson’s face, remembering where he was, and he grimaced as he rolled his eyes. Just wonderful. Still at the bloody hospital. The doctor pulled a smirky face and cocked an eyebrow as he spoke. 

“Well, nice to see you, too,” he said in a snarky tone. “Your smiling face has become the highlight of my day. Why, if only all of my patients were as charming as you are, I’d never be able to leave,” his voice was sarcastic and he actually sounded a bit put out as he raised the detective up so he could listen to his chest through his stethoscope.

Sherlock bit back a snappy retort and let out a low growl from deep in his chest. He felt Dr. Watson pause behind him where he had the stethoscope pressed to his back and it took a few moments for him to continue his evaluations. Once he had finished, Sherlock leaned back on his pillows again and stared at the wall in front of him.

Dr. Watson set about taking his blood pressure and as his hands worked over the muscles in Sherlock’s bicep, he felt him squeeze his muscle gently before he placed the cuff around his arm. He raised an eyebrow and glanced in Dr. Watson’s direction but he refused to acknowledge Sherlock’s gaze. The cuff loosened around his arm after a few moments and it was returned to its place on the monitors. 

“Well, all seems to be getting better. Your blood pressure is still working its way down, but it will get there soon enough,” his doctor stated, matter of factly, “I’ll give you something to help you sleep and I’ll check back on you soon,”. Dr. Watson pulled a container out of a cabinet and filled a small cup with water. He brought the cup and two small pills to Sherlock’s bedside, “Here, take these. They’ll help,”.

Sherlock glared at him argumentatively as the cup was placed on his tray. No way in Hell would he be taking anything and he had no plans to stay in this retched hospital overnight. He pushed it away as if it were contaminated with some incurable disease. “I don’t think so. I’m perfectly fine and I refuse to be kept here against my will any longer. I’d like my clothes and my belongings as I would very much like to return home,” he answered, harshly. Before Dr. Watson could reply, Sherlock made to stand up, but his legs gave way and he collapsed back into the bed. This time, the good doctor took his chance to swoop over the detective, holding Sherlock’s arms down by his sides, gently, with his face inches away from his patient’s. 

As his breath caught in his chest, Sherlock stared up into the blue-grey eyes and his mind began to race. 

“Mr. Holmes, I believe you would find it in your best interest to do as your doctor orders and stay in bed. After all, only a fool argues with his doctor,” Dr. Watson growled softly in his ear. This made Sherlock’s blood chill right in his veins.

The cup was passed to him once again and this time he took the pills and downed the water in one sip. He couldn’t understand why he felt so compelled to do as the doctor had instructed, but he could still feel a dull tingling where the doctor’s hands had held his arms down into the mattress. He watched Dr. Watson warily, but said nothing more as he set about checking his monitors one final time. Sherlock took note of his shorter stature and the greying of his dirty blonde hair. His face was still relatively young, but his eyes and demeanor were not. His posture was ridiculously good and the way he carried himself suggested he had been military. Ah, yes, army doctor. Well, that was a turn on.

“Pardon?” Dr. Watson asked, turning to look at Sherlock with a puzzled expression.

Sherlock’s heart nearly stopped as his brain seemed to forget all basic function. “Hm? I didn’t say anything,” he choked out, barely above a whisper. Jesus Christ, had he said that out loud? 

Dr. Watson blinked at him questioningly as he hoped his cover up was good enough. “I could’ve swore you asked if something was turned on,” he began; his voice trailing off.

“No, not a word here. Your medicine should be doing the trick soon, though, so I assume I shall need some peace so I can rest,” Sherlock answered, an emotionless smile gracing his features. The revelation had him unraveling. What he wouldn’t do to be able to wrestle the good doctor to the floor and see just what he was capable of. The smile vanished as soon as Dr. Watson turned his back as he nodded in agreement, whispering something under his breath as he closed the door behind him.

 

(Dr. Watson’s POV)

 

“Bloody Hell…” Dr. Watson whispered to himself as he stepped out into the hall. The door clicked closed heavily behind him and he leaned his back against it as he tried to still his racing heart. He knew exactly what Sherlock had said a few moments ago and he’d just tried to cover it up. Classic Freudian Slip, maybe? Oh, how John Watson hoped so. The pills he had given his patient wouldn’t be effecting him just yet, so he knew the words weren’t medically induced. And, still…. The great Sherlock Holmes had a military kink… and he – Captain John Watson, Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers – had turned him on.

The idea of it all sent a shiver through Dr. Watson’s body. Oh, how he’d love to kiss those cheekbones and run his mouth over Sherlock’s muscled chest… and those curls… God, what he wouldn’t give to tangle his fingers in those dark, curls and –

“You ok, John?”

Dr. Watson’s eyes snapped open, shattering the erotic images. Molly, a day-shift nurse, was standing next to him with a look of concern on her face. He shook his head, reluctantly, to clear his thoughts. He would have to revisit those later…

“Yes, yes. Quite fine. Just, been a long day already. How’s yours?” he asked, turning the attention off of himself.

Molly seemed unsure of his reply, but let it go, “It’s good so far, just long like you said. Can I get you some coffee? I’m going down to the café in a minute,”.

John smiled at her kindness and indulged her, “Coffee would be great, thanks. Black, please. I’ll just be in my office,”. He watched her walk away and, as she rounded the corner of the hallway, he pinched the bridge of his nose. He was tired and his head was beginning to ache.

He decided to go back to his office and close his eyes for a few minutes while he waited on Molly to return. Then, he’d go back and check on Sherlock to make sure he was sleeping.

 

Dr. Watson opened his eyes and cringed at the sharp pain in his neck as he lifted his head off of his hand. He was in his office and his feet were on his desk. He must’ve dozed off without realizing it. He uncrossed his legs and painfully folded them back down to the floor; his legs were so heavy he felt as if his shoes were concrete blocks. 

The cup of coffee on his desk caught his attention and he realized Molly must have dropped it off without waking him. He smiled warmly at the thought. She was always thoughtful and kind like that. As he checked his watch, he realized that he had slept for over an hour. He decided to drink his coffee and then go check on his newest patient before making his final rounds. 

As he sipped his coffee, unbelievably still slightly warm, he allowed his mind to revisit the thoughts that had been interrupted earlier. He couldn’t lie and say that he hadn’t been attracted to Sherlock the first time he’d laid eyes on him. The man was ridiculously gorgeous; far more so than a man should be. And, now, Dr. Watson knew that the detective was attracted to him, too. But, how did he know he was an army doctor…? That part still puzzled him, but he was a detective after all so maybe John had given him that notion himself in some way or another. Regardless, he still couldn’t shake the idea that he wanted to get his hands on the detective and shag him into next week.

Dr. Watson finished his coffee and pulled himself away from that last thought. He was already sporting a semi-hard bulge in the front of his jeans beneath his lab coat and didn’t want to encourage that any further. He was at work after all. He rose from his desk chair and dropped the empty cup into the bin on his way out the door.

He made his way down the hall and reached Sherlock’s room as Molly stepped out closing the door softly behind her. 

“Hi,” she said with a smile. “I did your important checks for you to give you a break. He’s sleeping, still,” she motioned over her shoulder into Sherlock’s room, “Did you get a good nap?”

Dr. Watson tried to smile back at her, but was determined to find a reason to check on the detective. “Just fine, ta. And thank you for checking on things for me. I still have some other things to check on in here, though,” he replied, patting her shoulder as he slid past her to open the door. He turned back to Molly as he stepped inside, “why don’t you go take a break? I’ll listen out for your calls,”.

Molly smiled and thanked him as she turned to go. That was better. No questions asked, just leaving him to it. Dr. Watson slipped into the room quietly and closed the door behind him gently. Mr. Holmes was indeed still asleep, but the good doctor didn’t really mind. He stepped over to the bed, looking down on Sherlock as he slept. He reached out ever so lightly and touched a finger to one of the thick, black curls on the top of his head. So soft… almost like velvet. He wound his finger around the curl and watched as Sherlock’s eyebrows furrowed in his sleep. He was sure he wasn’t in any pain, but he let the curl fall from his finger and moved to sit down in the chair next to the bed. 

As Dr. Watson slumped in the chair, he closed his eyes, feeling a wave of exhaustion overtake him. He rested his head on the arm he had propped on the arm rest, but nearly jumped out of his skin when his patient spoke.

“No…. no… don’t stop… please” he half-whined, half-growled. His eyes were tightly closed and he arched his back, gripping the bedsheets like a cat clinging on for dear life. He was clawing at the mattress ever so slightly and he clenched and unclenched his jaw. 

Dr. Watson stared at the sight before him, completely in awe. Dear God, what a heavenly sight. At this point, he’d give anything to be the cause of it… He bit down on his bottom lip to stifle a groan as he felt his arousal growing harder. He couldn’t help himself as he groped his erection through his jeans as subtly as he possibly could. He had never felt this way before and it was absolutely erotic. 

The detective groaned and pushed his hips up before rolling onto his side, facing the good doctor. He stilled, never opening his eyes, and, after a few heartbeats, his chest rose and fell in deep sleep. 

Dr. Watson’s administrations on himself had come to a halt when the detective had shifted and he reluctantly removed his hand as he stood. The state of his groin was severely noticeable, but he repositioned himself to hide it. He stepped over to the bed, once again, and stared down at his patient. Every thing he was doing was wrong and he could actually get into serious trouble for it, but he couldn’t help himself. 

He rested a hand on the bed rail and just as he was about to reach out to touch Sherlock’s curls again, the detective raised a quick hand and caught his wrist. Dr. Watson froze, panic rising in his entire body.

“Can I help you?” the detective slurred, sleepily. He was still groggy, but coherent enough. He eyed the good doctor with a lazy stare.

Dr. Watson felt as if all the air had been sucked from the room as his knees weakened thinking of all the inappropriate responses that flooded his mind. “N-no, I was just… just checking in on you,” he finally managed when he could speak. 

The detective wasn’t buying it and he eyed him up and down. Dr. Watson became embarrassingly aware that he knew about his current state. The beautiful blue eyes raked over his entire body, pausing briefly at the zip on his jeans before glancing up at his face again. He flashed a wicked grin that was gone as quick as it came and Dr. Watson faltered. Shit…

 

(Sherlock’s POV)

 

Sherlock was still dizzy and could feel the sleep aid threatening to pull him back under, but he raised himself up anyway. His little performance had been successful and he wasn’t going to miss this for the world. He held eye contact with the doctor and spoke once again, “Are you sure you don’t need anything else from me… doctor?”. His baritone voice was a deep purr and he could see the effect that it had on Dr. Watson almost instantaneously. His pupils dilated, his breath caught in his chest, and he swallowed hard, trying to tear his eyes away from Sherlock’s handsome face. He could see the tension in the doctor’s features as he silently tormented him. 

Finally, Dr. Watson spoke. “That’s quite alright. I hope you’re feeling well. Chances are you’ll be able to be released this evening under special supervision. Your blood pressure is back to normal and everything seems in order,” he replied, calmly. 

While he was surprised by the news, Sherlock wasn’t quite sure he was ready to leave just yet.

 

Sherlock sat on the edge of the hospital bed, dressed in his usual attire. It felt good to have his coat back as he waited for Lestrade to finish signing all of the paperwork. He was being released to return to his home under special supervision from Lestrade – no doubt his brother, Mycroft’s, doing. 

At that moment, Dr. Watson and Detective Inspector Lestrade entered the room. “Alright, mate, you’re good to go. We’ll get you home and settled in now,” Lestrade said, clapping a hand on his shoulder as the good doctor looked on.

Sherlock’s lips twitched in a half smile that came and went. “Thank you, Inspector. If you’ll give me a moment, I’d like to thank Dr. Watson for all he’s done for me,” he answered, needing one last moment alone. Dr. Watson’s gaze shifted to meet his and his hands sunk into the pockets of his lab coat. 

Lestrade smiled back. “Alright, I’ll meet you at the lift,” he answered before backing out of the room.

He turned to Dr. Watson the moment the door clicked closed. The expression in the good doctor’s eyes was breathtaking and he knew if he stared too long, he would lose his train of thought. He blinked and focused on the collar of his white lab coat instead, trying to ignore the area of exposed skin just under his jaw.

“Thank you for all you’ve done for me, Doctor. I hope you’ll be able to think of some way that I can repay you,” he stated, shifting his gaze back to his face.

The good doctor’s jaw twitched and he blinked slowly, “how so? What do you suggest, Mr. Holmes?”.

Ugh, Sherlock detested the way the formality sounded. “Call me Sherlock,” he answered. “And anything you can think of. I just hope I can return a favor in some way,”.

Dr. Watson swallowed hard. “Well, Sherlock… you can call me John,” he offered, stepping closer. “That would be a good start,”.

Sherlock eyed him curiously but stood rooted to the spot. A bold feeling swept over him and he decided to take a chance. “Noted. So… John, about your little incident earlier today…” he began, teasingly, but he was cut off as John Watson closed the gap between them. Sherlock’s hands gripped the lapels of his lab coat as he pulled the good doctor in, locking his lips on the tender skin below John’s jaw. 

John’s head fell back in surprise and pleasure as Sherlock kissed and teased the sensitive skin. His hand left the pockets of his lab coat and he gripped the curve of the detective’s arse with one hand and tangled the other in his dark curls. 

Breaking away from the intense kisses he had been administering to John’s neck, Sherlock pulled back to look the doctor in the eyes. 

 

(Doctor Watson’s POV)

 

Every nerve in John’s body was on fire. He was standing in a hospital room, tangled up with one of his patients, groping his arse. This was by far the most unprofessional thing he had ever done in his entire career, but he had no intention of letting the moment slip away.

Those deep blue eyes took his breath away and he was certain he would be in deeper trouble if he continued to stare into them. The detective was taller than he was and his eyes were just level with his lips. His perfect, pouty lips… before he could think things through, he leaned in to capture Sherlock’s mouth, kissing him like his life depended on it. Hell, at this point, it probably did…

Sherlock kissed him back and his entire body felt numb. He felt the detective’s hands roaming over his chest and back, working their way down his body. The detective kissed and probed at John’s mouth with his tongue and he granted him access instantly. Their mouths tangled together and the doctor hollowed out his cheeks to suck at Sherlock’s tongue for a brief moment. The sensation must have done the trick because, at that moment, John felt Sherlock’s strong, slender hand cup his groin through his jeans. Jesus Christ…

John’s back arched, betraying him, and a breathy moan escaped his lips. He stared up at Sherlock with a heated expression as he slid his hand from the detective’s arse to the front of his trousers. He dipped his hand into the deep front pocket of Sherlock’s trousers allowing his fingers to brush along the impressive length of the detective’s erection. 

Relishing the spasm that shot through Sherlock’s body, he pulled his hand back out of his pocket and took both the detective’s hands in his. Reluctantly, they would have to finish this later.

“Sherlock… I still have about an hour left in my shift and I need to make my final rounds, but I’d much like to pick this up later on,” he stated, matter of factly. 

Sherlock eyed him hungrily and nodded in agreement. Lestrade would come looking for him soon, as well. “Of course, John. Whatever you need,” his reply was insistent, but not desperate. Not yet.

John felt his body protesting, but he was just going to have to deal with it later. He pressed a soft kiss to Sherlock’s mouth, dragging the tip of his tongue along his bottom lip seductively before he pulled away again.

“I’ll be waiting for your text,” John replied, smirking before he headed down the hall.

 

(Sherlock’s POV)

 

They reached the flat at 221B Baker Street without incident and Lestrade set Sherlock’s case down on the landing. The detective was a bit put out with himself that it never occurred to him to get John Watson’s mobile number, but he was sure he’d be able to find it eventually with some digging.

“Well, I’m off for now, but we will be checking in shortly. Just got some paperwork to finish up at the Yard before I can get away again,” Lestrade said, offering a handshake. 

Sherlock shook the inspector’s outstretched hand, “Thank you for your help. I hope Mycroft makes all of this worth your while,” he answered with a smirk. His brother was one of the most powerful men in all of England. There were rarely any strings that he couldn’t pull.

Lestrade stifled a chuckle, “Yeah, I’m sure he will. Just stay out of trouble and take care, Sherlock,”. The inspector smiled before turning to go back down the stairs. 

Sherlock unlocked the flat and stepped into the quiet space. It felt better to be at home finally and he was itching to get to his laptop to see what cases he had missed while he was away. As he sat down at the desk, his phone chimed in his trouser pocket and reached to retrieve it. Mycroft checking in on him, no doubt. As he made to pull out his phone, a scrap piece of paper drifted to the floor. 

The detective raised an eyebrow and paused before he reached down to pick it up. It was slightly wrinkled and there was the hint of a coffee stain on the scrap of hospital letterhead. A smile crossed Sherlock’s face as he read the digits of a mobile phone number followed by an untidy scribble of ink:

Fight me?  
\- John  
P.S. – Everyone loves a man in uniform


End file.
